The Thirteenth Fool
by Koniax Hyasen
Summary: Blood color is a curse to trolls, even for Thirteen. But the curse her blood instills is by far the worst, and she's been expected to pay for it each day on the Queen's orders of forever. Two generations gone and she meets a descendant that is peculiar en
1. Thirteen Times

**[TD]: TW Light gore mention/blood.**

* * *

I have died twelve times everyday.

Today I will die twelve more.

Tomorrow, twelve more.

And the day after that, twelve more.

There won't ever be an end to it. There won't be a light at the end of the tunnel. There won't be a release to this torment, this grey line that I've come to walk along for the last hundreds of sweeps. I guess it can be considered my punishment; whatever it is I've done. Well I do know what it is I've done. I've existed as an anomaly to the hemospectrum, to the Queen's beloved caste system. I've disrupted all known order by being hatched in the first place. I'm the lower than the mutants with their candy red blood, yet even higher than the royalest of fuchsia bloods. I exist as every color and as no color. I am purely tainted. But I am also clean.

It wasn't entirely hard to hide my blood color-or really lack thereof- and yet it was. I could only fake so much until it was impossible to keep faking. In the end they were coming after me thinking I was a normal mutant blood, covering my tracks in the anonymous of the grey area like all before me of the class have done. They hunted me down to the ends of Alternia until I finally gave up myself in exchange for the life of another. The Threshecutioners were ready to cull me, and I was ready to die, but there's still so much that I did not know of my blood.

The moment I felt the sting of metal biting through my skin was the moment I knew I was going to make it out alive, and come to regret it deeply. I've never hated my blood more than I did in that moment, pouring like a crystal clear fountain from my open wounds, betraying me and subjecting me to an eternity of routine death and rebirth.

The Queen demanded that I be judged in her court immediately.

I died in that room for the first time by her order, because my blood was clear. And I awoke alive again, the blood still pooling out of my body even as the gaping holes closed. After dying several more times I was imprisoned on the premises forever. Forever's been a long time.

I served in her court as a Fool. Of course I was not to be the only one. She summoned twelve to join me, one for each color of the castes-even the bright and lowly mutants. Some were there as punishment, like me, and sentenced to spend all but their dying days in her servitude unless they failed to comply to her demands.

In total there are Thirteen Fools. However I am to be kept a secret, much as I had thought to keep my blood. And thus the Twelve are known as the Zodiac. In the Queen's court they have to do whatever she wishes to keep her pleased, but whenever I am brought forth then there's only one thing to satisfy her.

Each member must kill me once before she will release them from the daily duties.

I have died twelve times everyday.

Today I will die twelve more. It will be no different than the last two generations I've endured, this being the third.

The clang of metal on metal rings in my ears. They're at the beginning of the stony hall. It will take them twenty-three steps to stand in front of my wooden door reinforced with iron bars both on the outside and the inside. In forty-eight seconds they will have found the key to my cell, the first set of iron and wood unlocked and open, and dim shafts of light filtering into the cramped space. For ten seconds they will stare and judge me. And the final five seconds will contain them unlocking the final set of iron bars.

Who will be escorting me today? Or so I would like to wonder this but it's long since become meaningless. In the end we won't be allowed to speak to each other. No words of reassurance, no general politeness, not even a sound of pity. Nothing.

Metal grates on stone, and then wood smooths it over. Thin shafts of pinkish-orange light shimmer into my cell and illuminate the little space almost as well as a single candle. A bed of straw, which I sit on, and three walls with brick and stone layered one over the other. There had been an attempt at one point in my time where I had tried to count my forever, but eventually it just made me sick and now it surrounds me like a reminder.

A girl stands in the way of the light, casting a shadow that very well near diminishes the already poor lighting. Just from her posture alone I can tell which Zodiac has drawn the lot to come get me today. Cocky, elegant, and demanding. Her hair is voluminous and it cascades over her back and shoulders like a gently roiling fountain. And if this weren't a big enough tip off then her horns most certainly would have been- being much like the spiders that she and her ancestors chose to serve. It's none other than the Serket descendent, Vriska.

She jerks her head sharply, impatiently, and steps aside. Rising from my bed I clear the cell and wait with my hands stretched forth. The cuffs are never removed from my wrists so all she has to do is take a cord from her belt and string it through the loops before leading me away, not even bothering to shut the door to my cell. I will be coming back to it anyways.

We walk down the hall at different paces, hers being a brisk and haughty swagger, mine being casual and practically languid. The difference between us can't be more clear than my own blood. She's only been here for a few months and still thinks that speed will earn her everything. It's the typical brash measure that most rookies make their first run on the job. Then again her Royal Highness is unpredictable.

We walk through halls of stone of dark, up winding staircases, shifting to floors and walls of marble and ceilings of pearl. The light of the sun wanes through sea-glass windows, creating a ripple of colors along the walls like a tidal wave of the hemospectrum. It's beautiful, but not a sight that I've never seen. Soon enough I'm dragged into the Grand Court of Her Royal Condescension and greeted with more familiarness.

Vriska unbinds the rope from my shackles and leaves me to stand in the center of the room, where most of the light shines down in a wide circle from an overhanging chandelier. The Queen sits on her alabaster throne with one long leg crossed over the other. Fuchsia trimmings adorn her black jumpsuit and curve to her relaxed figure. Her long, curly hair piles around her, spilling over her seat and onto the floor. Beside her is her favored weapon of choice, the triton. Every time I gaze upon it my skin prickles in various places where it had met with the vicious, blood hungry metal. Both of her hands are adorned with golden rings and jeweled bracelets, one holds a glass of soporific type liquid while the other rests with a slight impatient beat being tapped onto the stone underneath her.

She studies me with a cold stare and reveals nothing like always. I mimic it in my own uninterested way, noting that there are bags forming under her eyes and making her appear to be as old as she really is. I place my arms behind me and bow low before her. Not a sound escapes me.

"Rise," she commands, and I do so. I watch as she waves someone over and they walk forward from the shadows where the twelve usually wait when I arrive.

The angle of my head twitches slightly to the right, mildly curious. I haven't see this boy before. The Queen must have finally replaced the previous mutant blood if he's here. It seems that I'll miss yet another chance to interact properly with him. Though I highly doubt that he will want to after what will soon occur.

He's short, yet looks mature enough to be about six or seven sweeps old. Midnight black hair curls gently over his forehead, the rest an unruly mess as if he had just woken up. Little nubby horns poke out from this disaster. His grey skin is healthy except for the dark circles under his luminous gold eyes, his blood color having yet to fill his pupils. He wears the customary court suit that all the male Fools wear; a three piece ashen grey suit with blood color linings, and symbol on the lapel of the coat. Strapped to his back is his weapon of choice, what appears to be a double sickle.

Those will become stained, yet remain clean.

The Queen smirks at him, at the way he stands in attention. A mixture of fear and diligence shapes his posture. He's honored to have received the position as a member of the court, as it spares his life though he'll have to serve here until the very end. Yet he's also fearful simply because of his mutant blood. He'll be hated for sure, is what he thinks.

"Vantas, do you see this she-troll here?" The Queen doesn't look at me as she nods her head in my direction. It shouldn't surprise me that she continue to make a single line of descendents suffer, yet I can't help but blink slightly at the name. When the boy turns to look at me we lock eyes. There's no doubt about it and the resemblance to his ancestors is somewhat uncanny. I have this feeling that he's going to cause me a peculiar form of trouble.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he responds promptly with a scratchy voice. It's not hard to tell that he wants to ask who I am, what my importance is, but he is trying hard to restrain himself in hopes that the Queen will answer without prompting.

"This here is another Fool, just like you. You will only see her at the end of each day unless you are the one escorting her from her cell. There's no need to know her name, but if you wish to refer to her as something then call her Thirteen," The Queen's smirk deepens to the point of borderline cruelty. Thirteen is her pet name for me, an insult almost. But I cannot change what is her will and have since long forgotten my own name.

The boy nods to confirm he understands.

The Queen stands and moves behind him. She places a grey, taloned hand on his shoulder and leans forward to whisper in his ear. I can't hear what she says, but I know what she tells him almost as if by heart. I watch his neutral expression change, eyes widening in shock, turning to look at the Queen with his mouth agape ready to protest.

Before he can say anything she shoves him down the steps that lead up to her throne and he stumbles. He catches himself before he reaches the bottom, landing on the last step heavily. With a haughty chortle Her Majesty returns to her seat and prepares herself for the show to begin. I loosen my muscles and wait for the Vantas descendant to reach me with my arms slack at my sides.

As he walks forward, slowly and hesitantly, he removes the sickles from his back. They twirl around slightly as he accustomed himself to a familiar grip. His steps echo around the silent hall. The tension mounts within him the closer his feet bring him to me. I wait patiently.

He stops a few feet away from me with his weapons raised and his posture in a battle stance. I'm ready to begin this dance and learn his style but it's quite obvious that he isn't prepared for this. I don't blame him.

In this society that we've built up we are expected to kill or be killed. Learning to fight is mandatory if we wish to survive. But many trolls, especially the lowbloods, want a change. They would rather take the path of peace and only fight to kill if necessary. The highbloods have turned killing into a thing of sport. Bloodshed is meant to be entertainment. Killing senselessly is the way things are supposed to be ran, according to them.

I've become so desensitized that it hardly matters to me anymore.

There's a hint of confusion in his eyes as he studies me. He's trying to make sense of this. How is it he'll be seeing me at the end of each day if he's going to be killing me? I'd like to tell him how, but I'm forbidden from speaking. He's just going to have to watch and learn. But at the moment if he doesn't hurry and get this over with he's going to get into trouble.

I look back at the Queen and prepare to break my silence.

"Your Highness, it appears that the new Zodiac is confused as to many things and is in need of a demonstration before he can carry out your order," My voice comes out as a croak, somewhat deep and dry. I lightly cough but do not turn away from the Queen. A dangerous look flashes in her eyes and I know that I am in waters that are turning too deep for swimming. There comes an audible murmuring from the right as the Zodiac speak among themselves, none having heard my voice before.

Softly I continue and offer something that will surely make her forget she was even angry at me. "If you will allow for it, I wish to give the demonstration myself."

She remains silent as she thinks. Her hand rises to meet her mouth and she absently plays with her bottom lip for awhile before a dark grin forms. I've never offered this before. And what is one more killing of myself in a day to her?

She nods and I return my focus back to the Vantas boy, holding out my hand expectantly for at least one of his weapons.

He stares incredulously, slowly shaking his head back and forth to deny me. I take a step forward, and he takes one back. I close my eyes briefly and inhale.

"Please give me your weapon."

My eyes open again. He's shaking his head more quickly and I can see his hair moving with the movements like water. Water which is clear like my blood that will flow free from the confines of my body.

"Vantas!" the Queen snaps. "Give her your weapons."

He switches the sickle in his right hand over to his left and stretches out the arm stiffly. Wrapping my hands around the exposed parts of the hilts I try to take them. Unwillingly he lets them slide from his grasp. I step away, back to my place in the center of the court. Raising the sickles above me I cross my arms, keeping the rounded side facing me. Then in a swift and fell swoop I bring them back down to meet with my neck.

The sickles clatter to the floor, flinging clear blood in every direction. The warm, syrupey goo spurts from the slits I had created and fills into my open lungs. The boy's mouth is opened in a wordless scream and he reaches forward already too late to stop me. I take one step forward, teeter, and then fall onto my side to choke while I bleed to death.

* * *

 _ **Karkat:**_

He didn't understand the Queen's command. Kill her? He hadn't expected his job to turn ugly so quickly. He didn't even know there was another Fool besides the twelve in Her Majesty's royal court until know. It doesn't sit right with him, having to kill someone he doesn't know for no good reason. That's why he hesitated to perform his duty.

The she-troll didn't even seemed phased by this. The way her body stayed relaxed, the way she waited patiently, the dead yet observant look in her clear-somewhat sliver- eyes. Her hair showed a lack of care by the way it curled and tangled in whatever direction it wanted in it's short and choppy range. Even her outfit showed that she had been here for a long, long time. The threadbare jester's tunic full of faded colors held tightly to her body by a black bodice, matching black leggings with knee high scarlet boots that curl at the toes. She looked the part of an actual Fool, unlike him and his colleagues. She didn't even have her own symbol.

She calmly held out her hand and asked for his weapons…..

She was even willing to kill herself?!

They were now firmly in her grasp, as if she's used them time and time again. Her movements were fluid and synchronized, like she's done this time and time again. The light glints off of the metal and he watches in horror as she brings them down diagonally, crosshatching her own throat. The sickles fall from her hands and land on the marble floor with a loud clatter. A spurt of the clearest blood he's ever seen spews from the wound. It pours like water down her front, but thicker, heavier.

His mouth twists and he tries to scream but his voice is stuck in the middle of his throat in a large lump. He reaches for her as she steps forward and then falls onto her side. He should move over to her, help her, something. But he is frozen in place, transfixed by the sight of the clear liquid flowing from her body and pooling around her. Her choking grows weaker the longer he stands there, until finally she stills.

His heart hammers against his chest as he turns wildly from the fallen woman to the other members of the Zodiac. Most look away, but a few stare in pity with their hands behind their backs.

Behind him something moves. Slowly he cranes his head around to look over his shoulder. The lump in his throat drops and turns to a pit in his stomach. Thirteen is sitting up, spitting and coughing up more of the shiny blood. If he were trying to fool himself, which he is, he could simply brush it off as saliva. But who is he kidding? Saliva isn't colorless. Blood shouldn't even be colorless. Yet here is the proof that it is right now, getting back up off the ground after having slit her own throat.

He's going to be sick.

She grabs his weapons and walks over to him. He scuttles back, but quickly stops. It's hard to breathe, he's panting so hard. She holds out the sickles with one hand and reaches for his other, guiding it up to take them from her. He feels the cooling blood running down onto the hilt and recoils, nearly dropping the things. Thirteen grips his hand tightly and forces him to clamp down onto them and take them back.

"Now you have to do it," she murmurs quietly with a rasp to her voice. "Don't think of me as another living being, don't pay attention to my blood. Use me like you would a practice dummy."

She steps away from him and gives a slight nod. The lump returns again, and with the weight of the pit he really doesn't have a doubt that he's going to be sick. Shakily he steps forward and takes up his battle stance again. Quick and painless. He's gotta make this quick and painless for both him and her.

Steeling his nerves he pushes forward and sprints. Raising his left hand high above him he jumps and brings the blade down like a harbinger of death.

* * *

I arise from the ground for the final time today bathed in my blood. The floor everywhere I've died is shiny, like little pools are dotting the court. I bow to the Queen and turn to face Vriska once again with my hands outstretched. While she binds my shackles again I look for the Vantas boy.

He leans heavily against a far wall, heaving. While most members of the Zodiac stand stock still and mind their place, a few of the low bloods have gone to comfort him. I pity him a little. Watching the same person die multiple times in the same day is a disturbing thing the very first time it happens. He's much like his ancestors in that aspect.

Vriska tugs harshly and I turn my attention away from the boy.

As I tread down the familiar white halls I count my numbers again. For three hundred and fifty-two sweeps I've been imprisoned and given a forever sentence. For three hundred and fifty-two sweeps I've walked these halls back and forth to the same places and faced the Queen's court. For three hundred and fifty-two sweeps I have died twelve times every day by twelve different hands from three different generations.

Except for today.

Today I have died thirteen times.

That Vantas boy…There's something about him and his lineage altogether that is strange. I can't quite place my finger on it, but it's disruptive. It seems that he really is causing me a peculiar form of trouble.


	2. Learn

_**Karkat**_

It's been a week since he's started his job as the mutant blooded member of the Zodiac. He's finally managed to get to the point of uncomfortable acceptance at what he has to do each day. Wake up and perform shitty morning tasks, get a small lunch break and then perform even more shitty tasks in the form of amusement to the Queen, ending with a killing show of the same person twelve times.

Yep. Casual, uncomfortable, nerve wracking and stomach hacking acceptance.

He sits at the rounded table in the mediocre lounge room where everyone can convene and eat their meals in supposed peace. A bowl of some un-named mush sits in front of him with a small metal spoon sticking out of it. He pushes it around but doesn't really want to try stomaching it just yet. He's still feeling sick from last night's….brutal display.

A shudder runs through him when he remembers watching from the sideline as trolls the exact same age as him kill another member of their Fooldom in a wild frenzy.

A large yet skinny hand clamps down on his shoulder and he jumps. The stranger plops down into the seat next to him and lazily stretches out. He turns to look at his colleague, Gamzee Makara. The troll comes from a line of fierce highbloods, and yet he seems to be anything but fierce, when he isn't killing that is. The other boy happened to have a problem with sopor and it usually makes him unbelievably relaxed and somewhat of a moron in his opinion. Then again usually everyone he meets ends up with some form of moronic label or other.

"How you doin' bro? Still havin' problems adjusting to the system?" Gamzee eyes the relatively untouched food and then Karkat. He shrugs and goes back to staring at the grey concoction. He tries to avoid conversing with Gamzee as much as he can, finding that usually one way or another the doped up clown would end up pissing him off.

More people start to filter into the room. "Yeah and you haven't? Geez TC, give the dude a break."

The speaker, a relatively decent guy named Sollux Captor, sits down in the seat on the other side of him and sighs. More chairs slide across the stone floor and others take their seats.

"Was just tryna help a brother out is all," The Makara is no doubt shrugging like he always does. Karkat closes his eyes so he can roll them. _If this turns into another discussion about how I'm in need of a miracle then Thirteen's not going to be the only person I kill today._

He freezes at the thought he just had. It makes him feel weak at how easily it had come to him. And then a rush of guilt overwhelms him. How can he just come to terms with killing Thirteen? God that isn't even her name!

Karkat suddenly pushes the bowl away from him, any thought or possible interest in eating gone. He feels sick. Pinching the bridge of his nose he leans forward and shuts his eyes. In all honesty he's never been much of one to withstand the sight of blood, let alone killing another troll. And to be expected to do this day after day for nearly the rest of his life is like putting a large crack in his thinkpan.

How is it Thirteen has been able to stand it? How long has she been doing this? For how long does she have to _keep_ doing this?

"What are you thinking about Karkles? It's making you smell angsty and let me tell you, that's not a pretty smell," He jumps when someone crashes into him, giggling like they'd just told him the damn near funniest joke ever. Karkat turns around and is faced with the shit eating grin of none other than Terezi Pyrope, the Teal blooded Zodiac member.

"Karbro's still havin' problems settling into the job," Gamzee supplies.

A laugh definitely more annoying than Terezi's and less pleasing to the ears sounds to his right and he looks over to glare at Vriska "Spider-Bitch" Serket. She throws him a wink over her shoulder, flipping her hair dramatically like she thinks she's the shit. His glare turns into a full blown glower and he returns to staring at the table again. Great. Just what he fucking needs, the highbloods thinking he's a useless wimp.

Everyone starts chattering at once to try and "help" him.

"You should definitely talk about what's bothering you, I know it works really well fur Equihiss and me. Hey why don't we all take today's break to help out Karkitty?" He looks up to send his scathing glare at the residential Olive blood, Nepeta Leijon. She simply grins at him with her cat lips curling smugly over her rounded face. Beside her, the friend in question actually named Equius, nods his head in agreement.

"A feelings jam? Excellent motherfucking idea lil' sister," Gamzee claps his hands together and rubs them in anticipation, sitting upright and scooting closer to the table as if it'll help him get in better on the action. The troll next to him with some iconic Bullfairy horns, Tavros Nitram, nods encouragingly and says something along the lines of building self-confidence if that's what he's lacking.

" _Boooring_ ," Vriska makes some snoring noises and finally makes her move to come join them at the table. She sits down and leans one arm over the chair, taking her mug of whatever-the-fuck (probably poison or some shit, don't spiders eat stuff like that for three square meals a day?) and rewarding herself with a generous sip before giving him a sly and pointed glance. "Newbie ass-rookie just needs to get over the fact that he's gonna have to kill that chick for the rest of his life."

"So it's Thirteen then? Don't even bother wasting your time thinking about her, she's just a nobody," Karkat has to resist the urge to bite his hand when the Violet blooded douche of the motherfucking century's voice accosts his hearing system. Instead he settles for burying his fists into his eyes and hoping he gets lucky enough to go blind so that he might not ever have to see those ridiculous hipster frames which sit on the face of Eridan Ampora.

 _If I walk out of this room without having killed myself then I'll owe Gamzee one chance to give me a sermon about miracles without interrupting._

"Guys you're just making his teen angst smell even worse, shut uuuppp!" Terezi groans and leans harder against his back, turning into a full body of dead-fucking-weight. He gives up and just faceplants onto the table, adding his ornery groans to the mix.

There's the sound of something smacking with muffled sounds onto something dense and Eridan starts to whine. A perky yet quiet voice tells him to shut his blow hole or else there'll be more where that came from.

"Karkat," He responds with a moan that sounds very similar to a 'fuck off'. Now Kanaya's in on it too, great. Just what he needs to add to this pain developing in the back of his head. Maybe he should try and build it a town there, see how that goes, name it Migraine Nation or some shit like that.

Kanaya sighs. "Karkat, I must implore that you speak with us just a little. It'll affect your work if you continue on like this."

He inhales deeply and holds his breath. It helps him relax a little as he slowly deflates, leading to him sitting up and pretty much de-throning Terezi off of him.

"What do you guys know about Thirteen?"

And then the crowd goes quiet. He stares at each of them in turn and watches as they squirm uncomfortably. Either they knew something or they only knew the basics like him, thus rendering it a question which he won't receive a satisfiable answer to.

"Well, I heard from Meenah that we're her third generation of Zodiac since she's been imprisoned," Feferi mumbles, which is slightly uncharacteristic for her considering that she's usually one of the worst chatterboxes ever. He puts an insane amount of intensity into his stare in hopes that she'll cave and tell him more.

"Aranea once mentioned to me that she had a Matesprite, and that she traded her own life to keep them safe. Boy did that plan end up backfiring on her," Vriska chuckles lightly before diving in once more to drink from her mug.

Eridan chances speaking again, this time actually providing something useful. "Her sentence is forever. A pity since it appears she can never die. I mean, she doesn't even look like she's aged beyond 24 sweeps so she's immortal in more ways than one."

"She's, um, no longer allowed to bear a symbol like, uh, us," Tavros pipes in.

Kanaya leans forward, lacing her fingers together and then resting her chin atop them. "If any of you have bothered to notice she's quite observant, even for someone so dead on the inside. If she was actually allowed to fight back, rather than simply just defend until we catch her off guard, then I don't have a doubt she'd beat all of us at once without even batting an eye."

"Ha! Don't make me laugh Kanaya, she'd rather submit to someone's will and die like a peasant time and time again over fighting us," Vriska snorts and slams her mug down onto the table, getting up to walk around a bit. On her way she pushes Tavros's head down none too gently or subtly.

"Well since AA isn't here I'm just gonna speak her mind cause I know what she'd say," Sollux clears his throat and takes on an almost feminine monotone voice. Including the lisp. " _She's a living corpse that's reduced to nothing more than a doll. It's how she views herself so we should do the same and take no interest in her, though I would like to study her if possible at one point or another._ "

Vriska can be heard muttering a curse or two under her breath about the missing person, AA. (A.K-dot-fucking-A Aradia Megido.) He couldn't care less about the differences between the two at the moment though.

Sollux keeps talking, though from his point of view. "Personally you shouldn't get invested with her KK. Like GA said, it'll affect your job, and this is the last job you wanna fuck up on."

He rolls his eyes. Like he didn't know that already. If he fucks up one too many times then he'll end up deader than a doornail. It's the same old news as always.

"Hate to cut this lovely session dealing with your mixed feelings about a better off dead troll short, but the break's nearing its end and we've gotta draw lots before that happens," Vriska shoves her way between him and Gamzee, her hand full of sticks for the lot. He sighs and reaches forward to take one. Everyone else does the same.

When he opens his hand he nearly swears out loud. In his hand lies the lot with a clear tip. _Great. Abso-fucking-lutely great!_ Of all the most asinine things to have happened within this day this has to be it. It's gotta be the topper to his figurative cake. God damn what does the universe have against him?

Vriska grins while others groan at his bad luck. "Maybe you can get her to talk again, since you seem to be the exception to her otherwise permanent silence."

"Fuck off," he spits. Vriska sticks her tongue out and he stands up, clenching his fists tightly at his sides before turning to storm out of the room.

* * *

He hesitates, standing in front of the barred cell door. He doesn't know if he can stand the weight of having to be the one to deliver her to hell today. Maybe he should have asked a different question during their break. Something along the lines of how the fuck did they drown out this insane guilt? It's crazy, roiling like a turbulent storm in his stomach already making him feel sick again.

Shakily he reaches for his keys and picks out the one that'll unlock everything. The metal of the iron bars screeches in protest as he drags them over the stone floor, and he grits his teeth wishing he could bite something to relieve him of this annoyance. The wooden door is much better, sounding like heavy sandpaper running over the stone instead. His shoulders slump when he sees the second set of iron bars however.

The light from a high window behind him filters into the room and lights it somewhat easily. It's still dim and he has to squint to see better, but it's not hard to make much out because of how small the space is. Three walls run high above him, no window in this room but for the thin slot on the wood door. He can make out faint black marks on the walls and he wonders what those could be. Finally his gaze rests on the hay bed with a crappy grey blanket on top. Thirteen sits on it watching him just as he watches her.

Karkat reaches out and grasps the iron bars with one hand, placing the key in the lock and turning it with the other. It clicks, but he doesn't open the door. Thirteen stands up expectantly, but wavers in slight confusion. Quickly he gets over it and swings the iron barred door open.

Thirteen walks out light on her feet. He can't help but notice she hardly makes a sound. She passes close to him, making him jump and remember that he should have moved out of the way. The she-troll holds out her hands and waits for him again. He stares at the shackles around her wrists, a deep smoke-grey color, and he wonders when it is she was forced to wear them all the time in order to cut back on having to take them off and on again each day. She shifts and so does the shackle just a little bit. The skin underneath is a sickly grey, like stormy skies that aren't quite dark enough just yet. It's like an eternal bruise, a scar.

Thirteen clears her throat and he looks down, fumbling with the rope on his belt. Carefully he slides it through the loops on the underside of her wrists and ties a knot, binding her hands closer together. She turns to go and he does the same.

Though he doesn't want to, and he really shouldn't be doing it anyways, he can't help but pay attention to her. Thirteen is like a ghost, to him. Her walk is tranquil, smooth and effective. She's tread these halls so many times it's like she doesn't need to put any effort into it anymore. Eventually he finds that he's walking the same pace she is, even side to side with her. Her posture is firm, but lifeless. And like Kanaya had said, she's observant. Every time he looks he catches her eyes doing exactly the same as him.

It bothers him a little, the color of her eyes. He's never seen anything like it. They're a mixture of a lot of colors that do and don't exist. Sometimes he swears that they're even changing each time he looks away and back again. At first glance he had thought that they were completely clear, if not a bit on the silverish side. So far he's seen a multitude of different things. A milky pallor in the very center, waving out in different patterns with flecks of greys and clears weaving through it. There are miniscule dashes of gold, a drop of blue, swirls of pinks and purples. He even swears he sees a slash of red- _his_ red in there. But when he blinks it's like those colors had never even been there in the first place.

Too soon and yet not soon enough the reach the Queen's court. He leads her to the center like he's seen before and unbinds her, backing away to his place in the Zodiac. But no matter how much he tries to shake it off, it's like her eyes still follow him, haunting like an echo.

* * *

Karkat swallows hard as bile rises in his throat.

He knows that each individual member of the Zodiac can be callous, but it still shocks him each time he has to watch this performance. It's practically his rude awakening at this point. That the people he works with, that he might be friends with at some point, are heartless at the end of the day.

Keeping one hand behind his back he uses the other to cover his mouth, as if that'd keep everything from coming up. Aradia, the last performance of the day, cracks her whip around Thirteen's neck, pulling hard and forcing the other woman to fall down, clawing (is she really doing that, or just going through the motions?) at her throat. Aradia reels her in and forces Thirteen to her knees. She stands behind the choking she-troll and grips the sides of her head, twisting harshly to the right. Thirteen falls over with her head pointing in an unnatural direction.

Aradia uncoils the whip from Thirteen's neck and turns to face the Queen with a bow. She then returns to her place beside him. Karkat avoids looking at her.

Slowly Thirteen jerks upright into a sitting position. He shudders as she fixes her head, gripping his hand more tightly over his mouth. When she finishes she stands up and bows to the Queen once more. The Queen waves her hand in dismissal, standing up and disappearing down a corridor. Karkat steps forward and untangles the cord from his belt loop. He runs through the motions of tying her up with lightly trembling hands.

Once again he leads her away, this time as a return trip. He refuses to look at her. He can't do it without seeing something about her mangled. He can't allow himself to get sick yet, so he does what he knows how to best- work his thoughts into a frenzy and get angry.

What screw is loose in the Queen's head that she thinks it's okay to punish someone different to die twelve times every single day? How can everyone just go along with it? Why does no one try to fight the system? It's been done before, hell it's still going on now! What's stopping them? What's stopping _her_?

He frowns. He did what Kanaya had said and watched how Thirteen fought-well at least defended since she isn't allowed to actually fight back- and he had seen a lot of repressed potential. Thirteen's smart, he can't deny that. She tracks movements like one tracks an irritating fly buzzing every which way, and it's like she just imprints them into her brain for a later date. She _can_ overpower her opponent, if she suddenly stops playing the defense and turns to offense. So why doesn't she? Yeah sure she could die, but then she could just get back up again and keep pressing forward. He won't even put it past her to be someone who can lead a one man army and storm the castle.

They reach her cell in what seems like no time at all and he's pulling the cord away from her shackles. Thirteen walks away from him and into her cell like she has never left it. He shuts the first iron door and locks it. He grips the bars tightly and leans in, finally looking at her in the faded light of the night.

"Why the hell don't you fight back?" She shifts, startled that he has spoken to her. He leans in more, pressing his skin to the cold metal. Thirteen doesn't answer him.

Karkat growls lowly and pulls away, ready to just finish his job and leave. The silence is all the answer he needs to know. It seems like Vriska was right, she's just a compliant servant now. That conformation alone is enough to finally put himself at ease. Maybe he can actually put it behind him now, this strange need to find out about her. He pulls away and moves to shut the wooden door.

"I've been here for three hundred and fifty-two sweeps you know," He freezes with his hand grasping the frame of the door. Thirteen's voice is so raspy, like dragging stone against stone. "There was a point when I would have taken your question as a challenge and tried to do something about my predicament. But when your sentence is forever then those three hundred and fifty-two sweeps can wipe out a lot in your mindset."

His grip tightens on the door and he blinks rapidly. Of course… Time erases everything doesn't it? When you're expected to remain imprisoned forever then just how exactly do you keep a tight hold onto hope, when it's already such a fickle creature? His hand relaxes and slides off the door, hanging limp at his side. He's so fucking naive.

"You should go," she says quietly, jolting him back to reality. "You don't want to get caught talking with me, since it's forbidden. I would hate to see you lose because of me."

He looks back at her, a shaft of light falling on half of her face. For the first time he sees genuine emotion on her face. Bittersweet melancholy. In that moment he doesn't think of Thirteen as a ghost, or even as a living being. She's just a shell of herself.

And he pities her.

Karkat nods and turns away, prepared to shut the door again.

"Goodnight Vantas boy," The words come out of her like the wind passing through a crack in the wall, gentle as a cobweb drifting from its establishment, more electrifying than a bolt of lightning.

"Karkat," he responds. "My name's Karkat."

He could have sworn he saw a faint smile on her face.

"Goodnight, Karkat."

He shuts the wooden door, slowly taking away all the light in the little cell. Then he puts the second iron door in its place and locks it. For a moment he stands there, slightly dazed by what just happened. He turns to leave, shoving his hands in his pocket and throwing one last glance at the lonely cell.

"Goodnight Thirteen."


	3. Ponder

I wonder, what possessed me to answer that boy's question?

' _Why the hell don't you fight back?'_

It was a question that did not require an explanation, as it was already self explanatory. How can I fight back when I have nothing to fight for? My Matesprite is long dead, I don't have any friends, I don't even have myself. I'm nothing but a husk of my former self in terms of personality. So what else can I do but move like clockwork according to the Queen's will?

But…

This isn't the first time I have been asked that question. It seems to be a strong Vantas trait to question the order of things. A light chuckle escapes me, but much of it without humor. That's something I haven't done in awhile. Just like speaking…

I didn't really like the way he had asked that question. There were different layers of accusation woven together, some more unknowing than the rest. It was like he was accusing me of purposefully giving up. If I'm being honest with myself then I pretty much did do just that, but I am choosing to go down a more stubborn route and say that I just accepted the facts of reality. And reality says that forever is a long time so I should learn to let go already.

And I have. I'm nothing like I was at the beginning of my sentence.

Yet I had broken my silence to speak once again for this boy, to him. It was the first conversation I had actually held down with someone else in many, many sweeps. I even told him _goodnight_ before he left.

The peculiarity of trouble this boy is going to cause me knows no bounds, does it?

A deep sigh passes through my lungs slowly, my chest rising as it fills up on oxygen and then falling as I deflate. I look up to see thin rays of light twinkling down into my cell, the dust motes twirling lazily around and around. With a mind of its own my arm reaches up, pale grey hand stretching out to touch the light. I come just short of it. Normally I don't strain myself to try and reach it once I find that I can't in the first place but I feel rather oddly compelled to try today.

With a slight shove I push the tips of my fingernails into the light and disturb the peace of the motes. They dance wildly around the nails and I wiggle my fingers just a little. It's a curious thing, how such a simple force as an air current can disrupt a normal routine for things as mindless as dust. Just like how a single question asked by a strange person in a silent room can upheave the ingrained lifestyle of everyone else. If Karkat Vantas is the flow then I must be the dustmote.

But what exactly can he change?

There's no light at the end of this never-ending tunnel to show that the mote is moving anywhere. These shackles on my wrists aren't just for show. They're a reminder that I can't leave. I may be free to move anyway I can but at the end of it all I'm still bound by the Queen's words which are law.

 _Who says that words and laws last forever though?_

Hmm….

I bring up an excellent point. This reminds me much of the appearance of the Queen. She's getting on in her sweeps now. While yes the royal Fuchsia bloods are gifted as well as cursed with longevity even that will come to an end long before forever will. The descendant, Feferi I believe, seems to be a promising enough ruler. But I do not believe she will survive challenging the hierarchy. Her fighting is Optimistic Reckless, a style that says she doesn't fully consider the moves that her enemy could take to overthrow her. It's all mostly based around her mindset as a youth though, and I'm sure that with proper training from someone who could reign her in she'll be a master.

Ah I wish I could show those wrigglers a trick or two to help them out. It's not the first time the thought has crossed my mind either. Many of them are naive enough that they need it, like the Ampora descendant. Some could use being knocked down a couple pegs, especially Serket. The Zahhak descendant needs to learn restraint, the Captor descendant needs to find equilibrium, the Nitram descendant needs to obtain decisiveness. The Pyrope descendant needs to learn the difference between a game and reality to properly define justice. And the Vantas descendant…. Karkat needs to find tactics that aren't always so aggressive.

It's rather unfortunate that I'm not allowed to fight back and merely defend myself to the barest minimum. But if I were the Queen I would never see her twelve killings of myself.

Wouldn't that be a relief….

I feel...so….tired. Living is a tiresome thing. It has been for awhile I suppose. Forever is a desolate sentence, and I am only but a third of my way through it. Maybe even less. What will I be like in the next three hundred and fifty-two sweeps? Perhaps I won't even be able to think, to ponder such as I am now. What will the generation of descendants then be like? Will they be much of anything to me by then? Will I even quit associating them with whom they hailed from? Will I be completely empty by then?

Only forever can tell, but it keeps a hold of its secrets like a jealous mistress.

I can't take much more of this train of thought at the moment, so I believe it is time to stand and stretch my muscles a little. The time draws near that I must be picked up for the slaughtering. It won't do if I'm a stiff and crotchety old troll now would it?

But as soon as I stand then the doors at the beginning of the hall open with a loud clang. What is going on? It isn't time for the Queen's summons…. Unless I have misjudged somehow?

The feet are light and quick against the stone and my head cocks in confusion. What is the Pyrope girl doing down here?

The footsteps halt in front of my cell and the keys jangle, the lock creaks, and the metal screeches angrily over the stone. The wooden door is unlocked and then thrown open. I shield my eyes slightly as more light floods my enclosure. It does not take long for my sight to adjust and my gaze hones in on the averagely heighted she-troll.

I've always found her appearance to be more on the childish side, somewhat close to the Leijon descendant if I must compare her to someone. Her face has a pleasant amount of chub to it, so that whenever she smiles- rather it's whenever she grins like a beast that toys with its meal- it makes her cheeks appear puffy. Her hair is styled to a point that it pokes out and curls generously in whatever way it pleases. Even her suit reflects her attitude; a smokey grey coat and shorts of all things lined with her Teal blood caste messily put together to show she did not care if she looked properly put together or not.

She puts her hands on her hips and looks, surprisingly as she is blind, right at me.

"What did you say to Karkat? And don't pretend that you don't speak because I know you can," she demands boldly.

I look on in shock. Why is she asking me about this? I would not have thought Karkat would have told anyone about the conversation, as speaking with each other is forbidden. Maybe he would if he's made friends, and certainly if people are curious about me… Perhaps I shall wait this out to see if she will elaborate more for me.

What must be an agonizing minute for her is but like watching a drop of rain reach the ground for me. She cracks and does as I had expected.

"You had to have said something to him, because when he came back last night he smelled funny. And not as in bodily odor funny, but emotional funny. And he's been acting weird all day thinking about something."

Of course he would. I told him the truth after all.

I sigh. Knowing the Pyrope descendant she's going to be persistent until I answer her, and in all honesty and sincerity if she waits around waiting for something forbidden she is going to get into trouble, which I do not wish for. So I give her what she wants.

"He asked me a question and I answered it truthfully," My throat feels like it is scraping together, creating a croaking sound in my words. It's painful, yet another reason it's a good idea to not speak. "The truth is a shocking thing to be aware of when all you are shrouded in is mystery."

They Pyrope descendant leaps upon my words instantaneously. "So you _did_ say something to him. Vriska said you wouldn't because you obey like a mindless slave to the Queen."

"She did, did she? I suppose she would think that based off of the few times she's glimpsed my mind," A heavy breath escapes through my nose, something akin to what feels like a release of humor to me. "But if I really were mindless then wouldn't she have been able to bend me to her will by now?"

Pyrope tilts her head thoughtfully and nods like it makes sense to her. A light smirk spreads across her face and she chuckles just a little. "You do have a point there."

The acknowledgement is casual but notable. How strange that someone younger than myself concedes that I am right.

The mood in Pyrope shifts again back to business. "What else did you say to Karkat though? Because the thing you described isn't the feeling I smelled on him."

Now I'm intrigued as well as confused. "Well I also told him that we shouldn't be talking because it _is_ forbidden."

A subtle reminder to her as well of course. But I wonder… Was it because I had told him goodnight? Maybe it wasn't because of anything I had said, really. Maybe it was. He had shifted moods dramatically through the whole encounter. Then again he was compelling enough to elicit things from me. The fact alone that I had said goodnight is amazing enough. Perhaps he has been doing much the same as I have been all day. Thinking, questioning, analyzing.

"Pondering," The word slips from my mouth like a silken clad devil. Pyrope perks up like I had hit the nail right on the head. It's enough to tell me what his actions have been like without having witnessed them first hand. I have been on his mind as much as he has been on mine.

Pyrope leans forward and pokes her nose through the bars. "You're strange Thirteen, I'll give you that. You've made me curious so I intend to find out all I can about you, mark my words."

"There isn't much to find though."

I'm startled, to say the least. Yet it's also disheartening to hear her say those words. I have hardly any history to myself, and what there is most certainly isn't pleasant. She should abandon the idea now while she can. And for her own sake so that she does not receive a punishment for sticking her nose where the Queen most certainly won't want it.

She reaches for her keys and unlocks the gate. "We'll see about that."

There's trouble in those words.

* * *

The Condescension stares at me thoughtfully, swirling around her soporific drink. It's interesting, her intake of the beverage has increased steadily over the past few months. I wonder why she has such a need for the foul draft. Surely her responsibilities aren't weighing her down so much that she must drown herself in it. Originally the intent is supposed to relax the user, but it seems to have hardly the same effect on Her Majesty. I suppose that she adapts to it too quickly and thus tries to take in more to achieve that relaxing effect.

It's a slight sign that she is unraveling in her old age.

The Queen sighs long and deep into the silence. "I have some important news to alert you of."

She says this while looking at me, yet it's directed to the ones it matters to off to the side. I catch sight of everyone straightening in my peripheral. What news does the Queen have to share?

She stands up and tips her glass to give herself a generous drink. One clawed hand attaches itself to her hip and she looks down in deep concentration. When she speaks her words are slightly muffled.

"I have business to attend to in the Furthest Ring and will be leaving in the morning. It should only take a week, two at the most if negotiations are prolonged to that extent," She looks up and turns to face her Zodiac. The news is surprising. The Queen hardly leaves any more, having conquered basically every thing in the known galaxy.

"In the meantime you are to carry on with your normal tasks, including," She casts me a sideways glance with a wicked grin. "The punishment entailed for Thirteen."

"Yes ma'am," they chorused as one. I simply close my eyes and bow with my hands behind my back like always. It's far too much for me to expect a day to go by without my death, even when she is not here to witness it.

The Queen returns to her seat and waves her hand. The Leijon descendant steps forward and into the circle of light. I wearily turn to face her. My heart feels heavy, oddly enough. My steps become slower and my defense barely raises in time. Why is this news depressing me? It shouldn't. I am not to expect a reprise from my sentence under any circumstances. But I'm just so done with this endless cycle, sweep after long sweep. I need a break. I _**want**_ a break.

In this moment I make a mistake. I make a horrible, miscalculated, poorly judged mistake. I look away from my opponent and to the Zodiac lining the far right wall. My eyes have a mind of their own, searching out a specific descendant. Karkat stands at the end of the line on the left side tracking my movements. He looks up and we make eye contact.

Leijon breaks my guard easily and her weapon, hooked claws, slides effortlessly through my chest and out my back. I look down and see rivulets of my clear blood pour out and between her knuckles. My knees buckle and cave underneath me. The warm liquid builds up until I feel it in my mouth, trickling out when I gasp.

The light fuzzes and fades, wavering in my sight. Leijon gives a slight tug and pulls the blades out of me and I fall backwards. Death wraps around me slowly, taking its time and making this something I haven't experienced in a while- agonizing. I reach up to feel the holes and my hand becomes covered in the clear, sticky substance. I pull it away and watch my chest heave erratically, drops falling down from my coated hand and catching in the light. They shimmer and shine. Each drop appears unique though, reflecting a different color like a rainbow of the hemospectrum.

Each color disappears one by one and the light grows darker. The last convulsive breath escapes me, a cooling sensation runs through my body to relax everything. My eyes close just like if I were falling asleep, and I dream of never waking again.


End file.
